Trevor W. with models from The Doorman
Photo by Robert Curran, Image courtesy of Gigantic Pictures

This first decade of the new millennium has been branded the Age of Entitlement, where A-list treatment is demanded by no-listers and social importance can be claimed from even the most menial of occupations. The release of The Devil Wears Prada made a berated underappreciated magazine assistant the new “it” job merely for its access to swag and designer clothing samples that only models could squeeze into.

In the new film, The Doorman, debut director Wayne Price examines just how relative celebrity can be, as well as the sanctuary of delusions that self-importance provides, all with a comic tone that rarely misses a beat.

As the film opens, the audience is immediately introduced to Trevor, a heavily accented, attractive man mugging for the camera and speaking as if he is a man of great significance. Indeed he is, for Trevor is a doorman, and not just any doorman, but the doorman; the best in the industry. Yes, there is an industry. The doorman, as explained in the film, is different from a bouncer in that a bouncer is merely the muscle for unruly patrons, whereas the doorman is the one who decides who will gain entrance into the holy grail of any big city: a chic nightclub, thus granting him status comparable to Saint Peter at the pearly gates.

Filmed in a way that refuses to immediately tip its hand as to whether the movie is a true documentary or a satirical take on one, we soon no longer care and are left to sit back and enjoy the story of Trevor, the doorman. Everyone from New York nightlife titans such as Bungalow 8 owner, Amy Sacco to celebrities all across the fame spectrum gush on camera over Trevor and his doorman “talent.” The belief that “Trevor could have been anything,” but chose to be a doorman gets repeated throughout much of the film, mostly by Trevor.

However, when fate forces Trevor to put that theory into practice, he finds a far different go of things than he anticipated. Though his fortunes may change from the first to final frame, our interest in Trevor—played infectiously by Argentine actor, Lucas Akoskin—never wanes. His hilarious and often pathetic attempts to stay socially relevant are endearing, even if the culture Trevor tries desperately to cling to is superficial at best and repugnant at its worst.

The Doorman is a winning film not for its comedy aspect. While undoubtedly funny, with surprising comic turns from almost all of the celebrity cameos, the film offers realistic insight into how the slightest bit of power can jade, as well as the precarious nature of power. In this age of entitlement, The Doorman is a film everyone deserves to see.